crossober

When the blue police box appears from nowhere in the ally behind a bloody crime scene, John is, understandably, startled into dropping his phone. Sherlock, unsurprisingly, doesn’t even flinch, even when a man with very impressive ears throws himself out of the door. The door of the randomly appearing, ancient police call box.

"Dear lord," Sherlock complains, his voice dragging along in a way that only Sherlock can perfect, "you again."

"Ah yes, me again," he had a northern accent. John was fairly sure that they didn’t drive invisible police boxes in the north, though. "I am unfortunate enough to require your help again. It’s a huge mish-mash. Everything that’s ever decided it’d be a good time to kill something is involved in this one: humans, demons, aliens."

"Oh my," John tacked on, and immediately wished that he hadn’t, when both of the men turned their attention on him, Sherlock confused and the other man amused.

"Pleasure," he said, sticking a hand out. "I’m the Doctor."

"Well, hullo. I’m A doctor.” By this point, John was pretty much impervious to the types of eccentricities that Sherlock’s company seemed to hold. Also, he was still stuck on the disappearing police box.

The Doctor turned his attention right back to Sherlock. “I’m considering enlisting a hunter,” he said, looking just as excited as Sherlock did not. “This will be the least boring thing you’ve done in centuries.”